


Chance Meetings

by Meridian (Meri)



Series: Chances Series [1]
Category: Homicide: Life on the Street, The X-Files
Genre: AU, Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-10-01
Updated: 1998-10-01
Packaged: 2017-10-11 22:39:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/117927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meri/pseuds/Meridian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A chance meeting for Mulder on a Friday night leads to something more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chance Meetings

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** This story is not meant to infringe on anyone's copyrights. Tim Bayliss and Fox Mulder don't belong to me, but I really wish they did. I'm just playing with them and I promise I will return them (much happier for having met each other) when I'm done.
> 
>  **Notes:** Many thanks to my Beta Readers: Trixie and Marcelle

### Friday Night

Smoke hung in nearly visible clouds in the moist, sweat-filled air of the gay club where Fox Mulder sat at the bar, nursing his beer. His long fingers wrapped around the slender neck of the bottle, his thumb circling the opening at the top. He stopped, realizing what he was doing. A chagrined smile touched his face. He was in bigger trouble than he'd thought.

The press of bodies pushed at his consciousness while he pondered a question of monumental importance. _What am I doing here?_ Mulder asked himself again, giving the thought all the serious deliberation it deserved, but still not coming up with an answer. He'd been sitting this bar for the past hour, musing the question. Looking around, he took in the various men trying to eke out a moment or two of happiness in this unlikely place.

Was that why he was here? Was he trying to find a moment of joy in his otherwise complicated life? He doubted he would find it here. This was not the place to meet the man of his dreams. Damn -- did he even want a "man" of his dreams? He mentally shrugged his shoulders, he'd yet to find the woman of his dreams, so maybe this was worth a try. Maybe not.

It was still infinitely more difficult to be gay than straight, especially in the FBI, but he couldn't deny the attraction he'd always felt for men. That didn't preclude his attraction for women, no, it just enhanced his chances for a date, and at this point, he didn't want to deny either inclination. He just wanted to find a little peace. Still, he wasn't sure he wanted to do it here, but at least he'd be moving forward rather than standing still, which was what he felt like he'd been doing for a very long time.

For years, there had been no one in his life except Scully. And as much as he loved her, and he did, he could not, would not ask her for more than she'd already given him. One too many times, he'd come close to taking something he didn't feel he had any right to -- even if it were freely offered. Never again. Getting involved with him would be a horrific choice for her and the last thing she needed at this point in her life. Scully's very knowing him had taken nearly everything of importance from her already. She had almost nothing left except him.

They both needed a break from the intensity of their relationship. He hoped that if he backed off a little, she'd find someone to be with, someone who would be good for her. He truly wanted her to be happy. Happiness was such an elusive thing, and he knew he'd never be the one to give it to her.

For himself, he wanted a place go away from the madness, wanted shelter in the raging storm. Even if he only had it for a little while, even if it wasn't really real, and even if it meant being fucked over the bathroom sink, so that he didn't have to think in those few moments where the pleasure outweighed the pain.

Trying to shake off the moodiness that was his constant companion these days, he signaled the bartender for another beer, his second of the night. It was late. He should go, but he loathed the thought of going home alone until he knew he could sleep. Maybe he'd meet someone, but as of yet, he had not seen a single man here who'd interested him, leave alone turned him on.

There was a sameness to all the men here tonight. They all dressed the same, had the same haircuts, and the same overly masculine looks. Nothing set any of the men apart. Mulder hated sameness in anything, it spelled conformity. And if nothing else, he could not be confused with a conformist.

Taking another slug of his beer, Mulder sighed. A flash of black caught his eye, drawing it to a tall man, dressed in a black leather jacket, loose, dark cotton dockers and a black button- down shirt. Why wasn't he wearing jeans? Every single man in this place, including himself was dressed in jeans. What kind of guy comes to a gay bar not wearing the requisite black or blue jeans? Someone he'd like to meet. Mulder decided this guy deserved a second look, this time at his face.

Not bad at all. Porcelain skin with features that were so delicate they should have been feminine, but weren't. Maybe it was the guy's size, he was standing against the wall, not too far from where Mulder was sitting, and he was tall. Very tall. Mulder estimated he had to be at least 6' 3" or 4".

The lighting didn't allow Mulder to see his eye color behind the round, wire-rimmed glasses, but the guy had a cute upturned nose. Definitely, good looking. And nervous from the looks of him, more so than Mulder himself.

Somehow the other man's nervousness made Mulder feel a little better about everything. Maybe he'd go talk to the guy. He started to stand, but sighed, changing his mind. Maybe not.

Approaching a stranger in a bar was not his strong suit. He could and did talk to anyone about damned near anything that was remotely work related. But talking to a potential date, someone who might want to know something personal about him, always tied his tongue and froze his brain. He detested anything to do with it.

As he watched, the tall man lifted a beer to his soft-looking lips, tilting his head back slightly, and giving Mulder a wonderful view of a long neck moving as he drank. He found that very sexy.

An image of himself kissing that long pale throat burst into his mind. His pulse picked up a notch, his cock twitched just a little, letting him know it was alive and interested. He should go over and talk to the guy.

Across the small space between them, the other guy finished drinking and looked up, meeting Mulder's eyes. Electricity sparked between them for a second and Mulder felt the attraction to his soul.

Certain the other man would come over and talk to him, Mulder was surprised when he didn't. The other guy just stood there with a silly, almost self-deprecating little half smile on his face.

What was wrong with the guy? Hell, what was wrong with him? Wasn't it his biological imperative to go out and find as many people as possible to fuck.? Of course, that presupposed he really wanted to approach anyone, which was not his favorite past-time with women nor apparently, with men. He usually waited for people to come to him, which they did more often than not. But while he smiled nicely, the guy across the way didn't look like he was moving.

Mulder sighed and smiled. Meeting the other guy's eyes again, Mulder nodded slightly.

Pushing himself off the wall, the guy started to make his way towards Mulder when the lights flashed twice.

"Last Call," announced the speakers at the corners of the room.

Halfway to him, the man stopped and looked at his watch, grimacing; he met Mulder's eyes and shrugged. Taking a couple more steps towards him, he leaned close and whispered, "I've got to go. Next week?"

A shiver hit him as the warm breath caressed his neck. Recovering, Mulder nodded. Next week.

* * *

### The next Friday Night

Tim Bayliss leaned against the wall, wondering if the guy from last week would even show up. Why should he? But hope sprang eternal in Tim's heart. He wanted to see the man again. Something about that full lower lip had intrigued Tim, made him want to suck on it, just to see if it tasted as good as it looked.

And he wanted to test out his newly found freedom to explore his sexuality. Instead of suppressing his desires for men as he had done for most of his adult life, Tim wanted to revel in it.

If nothing else, his dating and sleeping with Chris Rawls had given him the ability to see his desires for men in a good light, as something positive, rather than an offshoot of his uncle's abuse of him as a child.

To get to this point in his life had taken a long time and a lot of soul searching. He knew, he wasn't _cured_ yet, but he felt more comfortable with himself now than he ever had before.

Chris had turned out to be more of a friend than a lover. And in Tim's estimation, a good friend was far more important than a lover. His lovers never stayed with him, but some of his friends had been around since high school.

Chris and he had only slept together a few times in the months they'd been involved. At first, because Tim was not ready to get _that_ intimate with a man. And then because the emotions just weren't there.

Tim liked and respected the good-looking restaurateur, but he didn't love him. Sleeping with Chris had been more about curiosity than anything to do with any great passion developing between them. He'd wanted to know what it was like to make love with a man.

He'd been honest from the beginning, telling Chris how he felt. If there had been any chance that he would have hurt his friend, he never would have done it at all. But Chris had been willing to give him a few _lessons_ as he'd called them, and it had been an enjoyable experience for both of them.

He and Chris frequently had dinner, seeing each other at least once a week. Tim was surprised at how close they had gotten in a relatively short amount of time. Aside from Frank, there hadn't been that many people he'd ever been as close to. Oh, he had lots of friends, people to hang out with, or go to an O's game with, but not anyone he could really talk to. Men didn't seem to confide in each other that way. But he'd spent a lot of time talking to Chris, telling him almost everything about himself, including the horrors of his childhood.

Suitably appalled, Chris had given him the name of a good therapist who'd helped Tim work out a lot of his remaining hate and anger. It wasn't all gone, maybe it never would be, but Tim felt better about himself than he ever had before.

And when he'd wanted to test his bisexual wings, Chris had suggested this club as a relatively safe place to meet people. Tim was glad it was in the District rather than Baltimore, since there was less chance that he'd run into anyone he knew. Of course, if he did, they'd be in a gay bar too.

Looking at his watch, Tim sighed. He'd been here over an hour and still no guy from last week. Well, if he didn't show, he'd just meet someone else. Yeah, like he really believed that. No, if the guy didn't show, Tim knew he'd be back next week.

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. Someone was watching him. He turned towards the bar and saw the object of his recent thoughts. And the man was just as good-looking as Tim remembered. He saluted the guy with his beer bottle, letting him know Tim had seen him. Finishing the last of his beer, he moved towards the bar.

Sitting down on the stool next to the other man, Tim smiled. "Hi," he said, hoping he didn't sound as nervous as he felt.

"Hi." The man's eyes lit with his smile, causing a shiver to run down Tim's spine. Boy, he was really cute. And that bottom lip looked even more delicious close up. Tim licked his suddenly dry lips.

What was he supposed to say, now? He knew what to say to pick up a woman at a bar. Snorting to himself, he thought about his technique with women -- his track record was pretty bad there too.

"Can I buy you a drink?" he finally asked when nothing more suitable presented itself.

The guy smiled and nodded. "Thanks."

Calling the bartender over, he ordered two more beers. They were delivered. He and the other man drank in silence for a moment. About to ask the other man's name, a cell phone rang.

Chagrin hit the hazel eyes of his companion. "Sorry." He pulled the phone from his pocket and mumbled something into it. Tim didn't catch what he'd said. But he clearly heard the next part.

"Okay. I'll be right there." The man disconnected the phone, returning it to his jacket pocket and turning to Tim. "I've got to go."

"I heard." Disappointment and relief warred in him. He wanted to at least talk to the guy. But he was still really edgy about meeting someone, especially a man, in a bar.

"Next week?" Tim was more than pleased to hear the hope in the other man's voice.

Shrugging, Tim smiled slightly. "Sure."

And the guy was gone -- without ever telling Tim his name. Damn, this was getting ridiculous. Well, there was always next week.

* * *

### The Next Friday Afternoon

Deep in the bowels of the FBI building in Washington, DC, Tim Bayliss was lost. Not just somewhat lost, but severely and completely lost. He'd left the archives with explicit instructions on how to get to the elevators and the lobby. But somewhere along the way he'd made a wrong turn and had spent the last twenty-five minutes wandering the endless halls.

Damn his lieutenant anyway. Why the hell did he have to be the one to come all the way down here to spend a whole fucking day in the dusty archives anyway? Tim knew the answer: if he came down here and did the research, then it would only take one day. If they sent in a written request, it would have taken six weeks. Gee, his boss, had a contact down here and the guy had pulled a couple of strings, thus Tim spent his day with the dust motes and old pieces of paper.

At least he'd found the information. Gee wanted it on his desk by Monday morning. Tim sighed, taking another turn that led to another cream-colored corridor lit with bright fluorescent lights, just like every other corridor in this place. At the end of the hall, a small name plate on the door said this was an office rather than another storeroom.

Fox Mulder? What the hell kind of name was that? If there was a human behind that door, Tim didn't care what his name was. He knocked.

A muffled voice called something. It was enough for him, he pushed open the door. "I'm sorry to bother you, but..." Tim stopped short as the man in the office looked up, glasses glinting from the glow of the monitor where he was working. Tim's breath caught in his lungs as he recognized the man from the bar. He had been planning to meet the guy again tonight. Oh, god what was he supposed to say at this moment?

"You're lost..." the man finished for him, before he recognized Tim.

The moment suspended in time as they stared at each other. Neither of them seemed to know what to say. Tim felt nervous sweat trail down his back. How did he always end up in these sort of situations?

"Mulder!" a harsh voice called, startling both of them. A man bigger than Tim appeared in the doorway. Glancing at him, the new arrival stopped short. "Who are you and what are you doing here?"

Faced with such obvious authority, not answering the question didn't even occur to Tim. "I'm Detective Tim Bayliss, Baltimore Homicide. I've been in the archives all day. Who are you?" Tim added to show he wasn't intimidated even though he really was.

"Assistant Director Skinner. Why don't you have an escort?" the man snapped, his brown eyes flashing with obvious annoyance. Military service, Tim could see it a mile away.

"I had one down here, but the guy wasn't going to spend the whole day babysitting me. When I was done, one of the archive clerks told me how to get back to the elevators."

"What are you doing here, then?"

"I got lost, this was the first office I've found that had a human in it."

The man sighed and turned toward Mulder. "Agent Mulder, fix this report and have it on my desk by Monday morning. And see that he," Skinner jerked his head toward Tim, "finds his way out."

"Yes, sir," Mulder said and the AD stalked off.

"Is he always like that?" Tim shuddered visibly. That guy gave him the creeps. He was as big as Gee without the personality or charm of his lieutenant.

Mulder smirked at him. "No. Sometimes he's in a bad mood."

Tim laughed, a little nervous and a little scared. His eyes met Mulder's and held. What to do or say now? He had no idea.

"Well, this is an awkward situation." Mulder said, smiling slightly.

He looked as nervous as Tim felt. "Yeah."

"Do you want to sit for a couple of minutes while I finish up and then I'll walk out with you?" He waved Tim to a seat by his desk.

Sitting down, Tim contemplated the other man for a moment before he spoke. "Uh, Fox?" He really wasn't sure about that first name.

"Call me Mulder."

"Isn't Fox your first name, it was on the door."

Mulder sighed. "Yeah, it's my first name, but I hate it."

Tim couldn't help a nervous laugh. "I can see why. Don't you have to do that file, too?" Tim pointed to the folder the AD had tossed on Mulder's desk.

Looking resigned, Mulder shook his head. "Skinner said I had until Monday. That's plenty of time. It's probably just a fucked-up expense report anyway." He picked up the file and looked at it, wincing dramatically. "It's an expense report." He shoved it into his open briefcase.

"You'll have to work on it over the weekend?" Tim felt a certain amount of pity. He hated having to do paperwork over the weekend. It didn't seem fair to have to take that kind of thing home.

"Won't be the first time. I'll look at it at home." Mulder turned off his computer and stood, snapping his case closed. "Do you want to get some dinner?"

"Yeah, that would be great." Tim stood and watched as Mulder put his coat on. The agent was nearly as tall as he was, and solid looking. He'd bet anything that long body would feel wonderful in his arms. Sighing to himself, he let the thought go. Maybe he'd get the chance to find out later.

Mulder indicated for him to precede him out of the office and Tim waited while he locked the door. Silently, they made their way through the mass of halls and corridors until they were at the elevator. At street level, Tim signed out at the guards' desk.

They stood on the corner outside the building, with people rushing by in a hurry to start their weekend. Mulder looked at him. "Where would you like to go?"

Tim looked at his watch and shrugged. "It's still kinda early for dinner."

Nodding, Mulder looked around and smiled. "We can't really stand here. Someone will notice and call the police."

Shivering as the wind caught him, Tim nodded. "Yeah, it might not be a good idea. Two guys in trench coats, standing on a street corner in this weather."

Mulder nodded, too. "Have you seen The Mall? It's not too far a walk."

"Which mall?" Surely Mulder didn't want to go shopping now? That would not be his first choice on how to spend the rest of the afternoon.

Tilting his head, Mulder indicated down the street. "You know, the national mall. Monuments? Smithsonian?"

Of course, _The Mall._ "Oh. Yeah. I grew up in Baltimore. I've seen all the sites."

"More than once I'll bet."

Tim laughed. "Yeah, tons of class trips. Do you want to get a drink?"

"On a Friday afternoon? There isn't going to be a place around here that isn't packed."

"What then? I'm running out suggestions." A tiny whine crept into his tone. The wind whipped around the tall buildings blasting into him again. Tim did not care for being cold.

"What about if you followed me back to my apartment and we ordered a pizza?" The suggestion was thrown out so casually that Tim almost didn't catch the meaning behind it.

Looking into Mulder's hazel eyes, he saw the desire and fear of rejection deep in them. Taking a chance, he nodded. "Yeah, that would be good."

* * *

Mulder unlocked his apartment door, holding it open so that Tim could go in before him, nerves tingling with anticipation.

Following the detective into the living room, Mulder winced. The place hadn't been cleaned in a while, a long while. Books, papers and magazines were stacked haphazardly on every available flat surface. A layer of dust seemed to have descended overnight. Mulder didn't remember it being quite this bad when he'd left this morning. Glancing at his guest, he saw Tim take in all the details. "The maid has been on vacation."

Tim laughed, shrugging out of his coat, he looked around for a place to hang it, finally tossing it over the back of a chair. "I can see that."

"Have a seat," he waved towards the black leather couch. "Do you want a beer?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

Mulder escaped to the kitchen, wondering what he had in the fridge in the way of beer. Thankfully, he'd bought some Sam Adams Ale recently. Opening them, he padded back and handed one to Tim and briefly studied the good-looking man.

Tim was even better looking in the light of day than he'd been in the dim bar on the two previous occasions when Mulder had seen him. The short dark hair made his fingers inch to touch it. Light brown eyes alive with intelligence held Mulder captive every time he looked into them. What was behind that sweet smile? Did he even want to know?

And that long, pale neck; he shuddered, thinking about kissing the soft flesh. Mulder would give a lot to taste it, already knowing the skin would be silky and delicious.

Shaking himself mentally, Mulder came back to the present. He was getting hungry and not just for food. But first things first, he desperately wanted to get out to his work clothes.

"Tim, I'm going to change. Do you want some sweats or something to put on?"

Tim looked up at him and smiled. "Actually, I've got some clothes in the car. I didn't think I'd have time to get back to Baltimore and then down here again tonight."

Mulder nodded. He'd nearly forgotten they were supposed to meet tonight at the bar again. "Do you want to go there tonight?"

"Since you're here, there's really no point. Unless you want to?" Tim said, shaking his head and standing. He crossed the room to the door.

"No. I'll be happy to stay here and get a pizza."

"Good. I'll be right back."

* * *

Mulder changed quickly into comfortable jeans and his favorite Yale sweat shirt. Tim returned with a stack of neatly folded clothes. Pointing him towards the bathroom, Tim disappeared again, and returned wearing another pair of dark dockers and a matching cotton shirt.

"Don't you own any jeans?" Mulder asked without thinking. Oh god, why had he asked that? Wasn't the fact that Tim hadn't worn jeans to the bar what had first made him notice the other man? Damn, he still would like to see those long, long legs encased in soft denim. Or leather. But he would not even _think_ of that now.

Looking puzzled by the question, Tim shook his head. "Yeah, but I haven't worn them since college. I like my clothes comfortable."

"Jeans _are_ comfortable." Actually, as far as he was concerned there was _nothing_ more comfortable than old, soft jeans.

Tim shook his head, folding his arms over his chest and looking very much like he was pouting. Maybe he'd had this discussion before. "They're too tight."

"You could use some tight clothes." His eyes took in the loose clothes wishing for something that showed off the long form better. A pair of tight jeans really would go a long way on that body. Why didn't Tim want to show it off?

"Why?"

"It pays to advertise." Mulder smirked, sitting down on the couch and Tim sat next to him, not quite relaxed, but not too tense either.

"I'm doing okay without it." Something in Tim's quiet words struck a cord in Mulder. It sounded like Tim might not be doing so well in that department. Something he understood only too well.

Looking right into the light brown eyes, he saw a sadness that matched his own. "Are you?"

Opening his mouth to answer, Tim shut it again without a sound emerging. He shrugged. "Sure."

"Then why are you here?" Mulder sighed to himself. Why was he trying to antagonize his date? This was a subject they shouldn't be discussing quite so soon, if at all.

Shrugging, Tim met his eyes. Mulder was glad to see there was no anger in them, more sad resignation. "Why _am_ I here?"

Now it was Mulder's turn to open his mouth and not find the words. Shaking his head, he really wasn't good at this sort of thing. But now that he'd started, it would be a shame to let it go. "I don't know. But I'm glad you are. And..."

"And what?" An inner light came from Tim, and Mulder suddenly knew what the other man was asking. He could see the anticipation in his companion.

Might as well get his cards on the table. He needed someone tonight, someone who would take a bit of care with him, someone to help him forget for a while and even not knowing Tim, he sensed the other man would be just what he needed. "I want you to stay."

"Just like that?" Tim sounded incredulous, like he had not expected the invitation or maybe just not quite so soon. But, the light brown eyes shone with interest.

"Yeah."

"You don't know me. I could be a homicidal maniac for all you know."

He couldn't help the laughter. Having spent the last hour with Tim and having observed in on two other, albeit short, occasions. Mulder could make a few professional and other guesses about Tim Bayliss.

For one thing, despite what Tim did for a living, he seemed to be a very gentle man, as if the detective wouldn't hurt anyone, at least without a good reason. It amazed Mulder that after seeing so much of the dark side of life -- and as a Homicide detective that was mostly what Tim spent his days dealing with -- there wasn't a lot more darkness in him. Mulder knew there had to be some, but it was tempered with an innocence that he found fascinating and very enticing.

But he wasn't ready to tell Tim that just yet. So he grinned. "A homicidal maniac from Baltimore P.D. Homicide. Well, you won't have far to go to solve the case."

"I guess not. Did you go to Yale?" Tim asked, changing the subject.

"No. I went to Oxford."

His brown eyes widened. "Seriously?"

People always seemed impressed by Oxford. "Yeah. All you had to be was reasonably bright and have the money to pay the tuition." Well, that wasn't exactly true, but he hated to see the awe in anyone's eyes because of where he went to school. To him, it had been far away from his parents and that was what he'd been aiming for when he applied.

"What did you study?"

Mulder sighed. "Psychology. Where did you go to school."

"Nowhere half so fancy. University of Maryland."

"Good enough."

"For a Baltimore cop." Obviously, Tim did self-deprecating pretty well. Still U of MD wasn't a bad school.

"Actually, all you need is a degree, FBI and most other places don't care where you got it from."

Tim shrugged. "Maybe not."

It was more than time to get off this subject. "Do you want to get a pizza now?"

That's not really what Mulder wanted to do. What he wanted was for Tim to take him into his under-used bedroom and fuck him silly. Maybe later. Tim hadn't actually agreed to stay, but Mulder thought that he would.

"No." Smiling softly, Tim leaned forward, his fingers brushed Mulder's cheek. The look in his eyes said he knew what Mulder had been thinking.

Suddenly nervous, Mulder wanted to shift back, but like a deer caught in the headlights he found he could not move. Tim's mouth came slowly to his, until everything blurred together and excitement hummed on his nerves. The lightest brushing of lips on his announced Tim's arrival at his destination.

With a sigh, he slid his arms around the taller man's solid frame, pulling Tim closer, and deepening the kiss. Tasting like beer, Tim's mouth molded softly to his. The pleasure of kissing the detective seeped slowly into Mulder's bones, warming him.

He'd needed this for a long time, just making contact with another human being, simple contact. It wasn't much, but for a while it would ease the desperate loneliness that had become his life.

After sucking softly on his bottom lip for a while, Tim slipped his tongue into Mulder's mouth, exploring the depths with long strokes. Retreating, Mulder's tongue followed, outlining Tim's lips before moving inside.

The tenderness of the kiss surprised him. Most men he'd met hadn't cared to kiss a pick-up or if they did, it was harsh and fierce, more of a means to an end rather than a pleasure in and of itself. He could tell Tim loved to kiss and he was only too happy to oblige him.

Mulder unbuttoned the first couple of buttons on Tim's shirt. Breaking the kiss, he bent his head to nuzzle the soft flesh of the detective's neck. Sweeter than he imagined anyone's flesh could taste, his mouth moved over the pale skin, nipping and sucking, but being careful not to mark Tim. If the moment came for such things, it would be much later on.

Groaning deep in his chest, Tim tilted his head farther back to give better access, and slid his hands over Mulder's back.

Mulder's phone sounded, startling both of them.

With a deep sigh, he reached over to pick it up. "Mulder." He gasped, trying to get enough oxygen in his lungs to talk.

"Mulder, it's Scully. Are you okay? You sound out of breath."

Breathing deeply, Mulder felt his heart beat slow a little. "I'm fine. I just had to run for the phone. What's wrong?"

"Nothing. You left early. Is everything okay?"

Scully was worried. And as much as he appreciated the concern, he wanted to get her off the phone as quickly as possible and get back to his other activities. "I just said it was. A friend came by."

"The office?" The incredulousness in that voice grated on his nerves.

"Yes."

"How did they get in?" Trust Scully to think of something like that. It was a logical question, of course, but he hoped he could keep her from pursuing it.

So, he stalled. "It's a long story. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"I take it she's still there." There was definitely a snicker in her voice now.

"Yes. He is." His choice of companion should not come as surprise to her, she knew nearly every detail of his life.

"I see." Maybe she was jealous? He doubted it. If she felt anything like that for him, he'd know it.

"Bye, Scully."

"Have fun. And be good. Bye Mulder." No it wasn't jealousy, it was that damned superior smugness, as only Scully could do it. He would swear he could hear the smile in her voice.

Disconnecting, he glanced over at Tim and shrugged.

"Partner?" Tim asked, a smile touching his soft lips.

Nodding, Mulder sighed. "How could you tell?"

"I've got one too. Although Frank doesn't usually call me at home. Unless he wants me to babysit."

Mulder laughed. "You babysit your partner's kids?"

"Yeah. I love 'em."

"How many?"

"Two." Tim's stomach grumbled.

Nodding, he smiled again. "You want that pizza now?"

"I think we'd better. We'll need our strength for later." Tim smirked adorably at him and Mulder felt a thrill run down his spine. He really wanted Tim. But a little anticipation would make the coming together all the sweeter.

* * *

After the pizza was demolished and the dishes cleared, Mulder padded back to the couch where his guest sat waiting for him. A low level of excitement had hummed on his nerves since Tim first walked in the door. The level had risen a notch or two when they had kissed earlier. Now it spiked as Tim smiled at him.

"You know, we don't have to do anything more," Tim said quietly, meeting his eyes. "I mean, I want to, but you know, we don't know each other all that well, and..." He trailed off, breaking eye contact, a pink stain appearing on his fine pale skin.

Mulder's breath caught. What did he want to do? He thoroughly enjoyed Tim's company and if a one night stand was all he was going to get, then he'd take it. But what if there could be more here? Was it possible to have a relationship with a man? Hell, he'd never been able to sustain a relationship with anyone for more than a couple of months and then he'd been very young.

As the years had gone by, any kind of relationship took a back seat to his all-consuming quest for the truth. Only lately had he realized what an emotional wasteland his life had become. He wasn't sure he could change that, but he wanted to try. He needed more in his life to keep him human than he presently had.

"I don't know, Tim. Do you want to wait a while? I mean we could go out again. Well, we didn't actually go out this time did we?"

Tim shook his head. "No. No. I want you. I do. But... is this just a onetime thing or what?"

Mulder shrugged. There was no telling what the future would bring. "I don't know. I've never done it like this before."

"Like what? Men or picking a guy up in a bar?" leaning forward a little, Tim's concentration on him was total and flattering. Few people really paid attention to him anymore.

"I've been with men before. And I've picked up strangers in bars before, but you're more than a stranger."

"But still less than a friend," Tim added, nodding and holding out his hand. "It's your choice, Mulder."

Thanks a lot, Tim. He went with his gut feeling, taking Tim's hand. He sat next to the tall detective, meeting his eyes. "I want you. I do know that."

"Me too."

Tim nodded and Mulder captured his mouth in a long, slow kiss. Why wait? If there was going to be something more between them, then there would be, and if not. Mulder didn't want to think about 'if not'.

Tim's long hands slid under his sweatshirt, moving slowly over his belly and then his back. The caress felt wonderful, starting to ignite fires that had long been quiet. A shuddering breath escaped his lungs, and he broke the kiss to lay his head on Tim's wide shoulders.

A faint trace of cologne still lingered on Tim's skin, closing his eyes tightly, Mulder drew in the scent, nearly losing himself in it.

"You okay?" Tim asked, pulling back a little to look at him. A big hand swept along his face in a gentle caress.

Leaning into the touch, Mulder sighed. "Yeah."

He reached out to Tim's shirt, staring to undo the buttons, taking his time and caressing each section of bared skin. When he had Tim stripped to the waist, he couldn't help tasting the soft flesh. His mouth moved over the sturdy chest, stopping to nuzzle and nip. Tim tasted every bit as good as he'd imagined the detective would.

Tim arched up under his mouth, groaning softly. "Damn, Mulder."

"You want me to stop?" He knew Tim didn't. But a little teasing never hurt anyone.

"You stop and I'll get my gun and shoot you." The words came out breathless, negating the threat.

Taking Mulder's face in the palm of his hand, Tim kissed him again with great attention to detail. Excitement pounded through him with each new touch.

Pulling off the sweatshirt he was wearing, Tim's clever hands seemed everywhere on his flesh, stroking him to a greater and greater heights. The soft, hot mouth scorched his skin, sending fire down his spine and throughout his whole body. Mulder bucked and writhed with each caress, needing the feel of Tim's hands on him, relishing it.

Then, he was naked, his bare back pressed against the leather of the sofa, his legs tangled with Tim's. Straining and pressing against each other, the simple touch created a world of passion and lust, but he wanted more.

"Tim?" He gasped, trying to breathe in enough air to speak. "Tim."

"Mmmm?" Tim looked down at him, his light brown eyes hazy with lust. Mulder loved that look, loved the fact he put it on the other man's face.

"I want you to fuck me." God, he needed it badly. He wanted to go to that place where nothing could hurt him, just for a little while.

"What?" How had he not heard?

"I want you to fuck me." Mulder repeated, praying Tim would be willing. Another thought occurred to him. "Have you ever done it before?"

Tim shook his head. "Not with a man."

"Works the same way."

"We'll need lube and condoms."

"I'll have to move."

"Are you sure you want to do that?" Tim pressed downward again, sending a shockwave of pleasure through Mulder's body.

As pleasant as this was, he needed more. And he knew Tim would be able to give it to him, just the way he wanted it. "Yeah, Tim, please."

Relenting, Tim moved off him. "Okay."

Mulder was back in a second with the required items. "Here," he said, handing them to Tim. "How do you want me?"

"Anyway I can get you." Laughing, Tim ran a hand up his thigh, curling long fingers around his cock, stroking gently. "What's best for you?"

Mulder groaned at the touch, thrusting his hips forward for a second. The grip was too gentle to do anything other than tease him, but he was loathe to have those lovely hands leave him, but Tim had to let him lie down, especially if they wanted to get on with things. "You're going to have to move so I can lie down."

Sitting up, Tim met his eyes, amusement glinting brightly. "Don't you have a bed?"

"The sheets are really dirty."

Tim stood, looking amused at the idea. "Why?"

Lying down on his belly, Mulder pillowed his head on his folded arms. "Cause I sleep out here mostly and I forget to change them from one year to the next."

Tim laughed. "Okay." Sitting down, his naked hip brushed against Mulder's. "This is going to be a tight fit."

"God, I hope so." Chuckling, Mulder wiggled a little, getting comfortable on the sofa. There was something so sexy about being naked on leather.

Tim applied a playful slap to his bare bottom before moving to kneel between his thighs. Leaning over him, Tim kissed down each vertebra, Mulder could feel the heat of the other man's body down the length of his. Tim moved slowly, taking a long time to prepare him, carefully, until finally, after some maneuvering with the position, his lover was deeply sheathed in his body.

The bright searing of penetration singing on all the nerve ending of his anus, Mulder pushed back against the pain and Tim's intrusion. A moment later, the pleasure overtook him and for a while, he flew with it, hitting the clouds with each stroke of the thick cock inside him. The world broke apart in a million colors and he thought he heard a scream as he crashed back to earth.

Some indeterminate amount of time later, Mulder surfaced, held loosely in Tim's arms.

"You okay?" Tim murmured, sounding half asleep.

"Yeah. Fine. You?" He nodded, shifting a little to get comfortable in Tim's arms. It hadn't been this good in a really long time.

"Oh, me? I'm fine. Tired." The strong arms holding him tightened, and his lover planted a kiss on his head.

"Sleep."

"Here?"

"Why not? I do it all the time."

"With company?"

"Haven't had company in a long time."

"Me either." The lashes on the light brown eyes dropped, and Tim's breathing evened out.

Mulder guessed that they had both needed this bit of care, maybe for some time. God knows, he did. Snuggling down, he kissed the middle of Tim's chest, and drifted off into a contented sleep.

* * *

Cramped and cold, Tim woke with a start. Taking stock of the situation, he was wrapped around someone and it took a second for him to remember who and why. He wished they had made up the bed, but at this point he wasn't sure he could get Mulder to agree to it. But it was worth a try.

Shaking the other man's shoulder, Tim kissed him, hoping to wake him. "Come on, Mulder. Wake up."

Grumbling, Mulder opened one eye. "Why?"

"We're too big to sleep here." Tim wiggled, pushing at Mulder's shoulder.

"I fit." Both eyes opened and glared at him. Mulder did not look like a happy camper, too bad. He was uncomfortable and if the floor looked anymore inviting, he'd of given that a try. But Mulder's comment about the maid being on vacation came to mind and a quick glance showed the wood floors hadn't been swept in a while.

"But I don't fit with you and I like to sleep with my lover."

"Am I your lover?"

Leaning down, he planted a soft kiss on the wide mouth, just as Mulder started to respond to it, he pulled away. "I hope so, considering what we did before. Let's make up your bed."

With a long suffering sight, Mulder pulled himself up, giving him a questioning look. "Are you sure? The sheets are all really old."

Pushing himself to his feet, Tim nodded. "Yeah, I'm too big to sleep on the couch."

"Fine."

Mulder muttered to himself the entire 10 minutes it took to strip off the old sheets, which were every bit as dusty as he'd promised they were, then put the new sheets on. Finally, under the blankets, he pulled Mulder into his arms, kissing him softly.

"Isn't this better?" His hand slipped down the musculature of Mulder's back, kneading the tenseness he found there.

"Than what?" The lack of bite in the words let Tim know that Mulder wasn't really pissed about making the bed.

"Than the sticky, cold couch? You know, you're going to have some interesting stains on the leather?"

Mulder nodded against his head against Tim's shoulder. "Can we sleep now?" There was a tiny whine in Mulder's voice that he found adorable.

The naked body in his arms was giving Tim other ideas. He let his hands slide down over Mulder's round ass, caressing softly. "How tired are you?"

The hazel eyes opened, and this time they were twinkling. "How would you like to be on the bottom this time?"

Surprise swept through him. He hadn't expected the request quite so soon. He tried to think of something to say, but nothing brilliant came to mind. It wasn't that he really had anything against the idea -- at least in theory, it was just that he was not ready to test it out yet. "Not this time, okay."

Mulder saw the hesitation. "Okay. I was just joking, anyway. I know you haven't done it before. It will keep."

"Will it?" God, he hoped so. Eventually, he would be ready for that, but not right now and not with someone he barely knew and didn't trust. He'd been really surprised that Mulder had wanted that tonight.

"Sure. I mean, if this," his hand swept the bed, "lasts, then yeah, I'm gonna want reciprocation, but if it doesn't then don't worry about it."

"You really like it? What's it like?" Tim had to admit to a certain amount of curiosity about it, but it had always seemed like it would be really painful. Although, Mulder hadn't acted like he'd been in any pain.

Quiet for a moment, Mulder seemed to consider the question. "It takes me out of myself, into another place. A place without pain."

"I'd always thought it hurts." A shudder ran through Tim.

"Only at first. And the pleasure is unbelievable."

"Someday."

"Sure," Mulder rolled on top of him, wrapping his long arms and legs around Tim. "We've got other things to worry about now.

Before he could say anything Mulder's mouth came down on his and all talking ceased for a long time.

The end or a new beginning?   
October 1998


End file.
